


A Symphony of Excuses (unfinished)

by china_shop



Category: due South
Genre: Community: wip_amnesty, M/M, Unfinished and Discontinued
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-02-04
Updated: 2006-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser cleared his throat again, and repositioned his hat on the formica table. "Ray, I think we should stop eating together."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Symphony of Excuses (unfinished)

Fraser watched Ray stir unfeasible amounts of sugar into his coffee (clinkclinkclink), and wondered what ratio of sugar to liquid was technically required before the liquid became supersaturated and crystallized completely. He was fairly certain Ray was approaching that threshold.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, and finally said what he'd been thinking for weeks. Well, at least a variant on what he'd been thinking. "Ray."

Ray kept stirring with one hand (clinkclinkclink), and rhythmically drumming on the table with the other (tap, ta-tap, TAP, tap), but he stopped gazing out the window at the streetlights illuminating the gathering gloom and gave Fraser his attention.

Fraser cleared his throat again, and repositioned his hat on the formica table. "Ray, I think we should stop eating together."

Tap, tap TAP TAP, tap. Ray glanced down at the ketchup-smeared plates between them, the small shreds of lettuce and abandoned sesame seeds. "Yeah, Frase. We've finished. No more eating." Tap, ta-tap, tap.

Ah. Fraser scratched the side of his jaw. "No, I mean, I think we should cease dining together in the evenings."

Silence. Ray's eyes widened, then narrowed. "What? There's something wrong with my table manners? Who are you, Emily Post?"

"Of course not, Ray," said Fraser, offering a small placatory smile. "I just—well, I've been neglecting Diefenbaker. He gets lonely if I leave him alone too much, and he is my responsibility."

"I thought Turnbull was cooking him a three-course meal tonight." Ray tilted his head suspiciously.

Fraser stopped smiling and studied the stained and crumpled napkin on the table. "Well, yes, but it's not just about Diefenbaker. When we go out, I don't have time to complete all my chores at the Consulate."

"Right," said Ray, drawing the word out rudely. "Don't have time to iron your boots or press your hat." He got up and threw a few notes on the table.

Fraser extracted a neatly folded Canadian twenty dollar bill from his hat, and added that to the payment. "Precisely. Not to mention the cost of continually eating out."

They headed for the door. "That what this is about?" Ray gave him a searching look. "You strapped for cash? Why didn't you just say? We can go cheaper places, no problem. Denny's is cheaper. Or, you know, I don't mind paying. Not all of us get our allowance in toy money."

"It's not the money, Ray." Fraser held the door open and ushered his partner through. "Aside from anything else, the food at our regular jaunts isn't highly nutritious."

"Joints, Fraser. Not jaunts. Joints."

"Joints, then. In many of them, the meals are terribly greasy. Sometimes I get indigestion."

Ray whirled around in the parking lot and stared at him. "Are you sick? Fraser, are you trying to tell me you're—"

"No, Ray. Not at all. I'm fit as a fiddle." Fraser was starting to be annoyed by Ray's persistence, and the annoyance made him reckless. "If you must know, you're not exactly a calming influence. On the nights we go out, I sleep poorly."

He walked over to the car, not realizing until he reached it that Ray was still standing, right where he'd left him.

"Ray?"

A light came on in the doorway of a nearby late-night video store.

Ray shook himself, and came over to the GTO, unlocking the driver's side but not getting in. He leaned his forearms on the roof of the car and stared expressionlessly at Fraser over the gleaming black paint. "Fine," he said at last.

::

"I was in the neighborhood." Ray stood on the Consulate doorstep, jangling his keys in his hands (clinkclinkclink). "I didn't wake you, right?"

Fraser hid his toothbrush behind his back and swallowed a mouthful of toothpaste. "Not at all."

"Because I can take a hint, you know. Well, sometimes I can take a hint. Sometimes you have to threaten me with a restraining order, but hey, I get there in the end."

"Ray." The longjohns weren't ideal clothing for standing in the doorway. Fraser wished Ray would just come inside.

"I know you don't want to see me."

"Ray, of course I want to see you. I see you every day." Fraser stood back so Ray could come in, but Ray stayed on the doorstep, shifting his weight restlessly, one hand drumming on his thigh (pat pat PAT pat pa-pat).

"Yeah, I know." Ray shoved his hands in his pockets. "So, I just wanted to ask you about the Belucci case, because I don't think the diamonds are the motive. They're like a sparkly four hundred thousand dollar red herring. I think he was really after the address book, so—"

"Would you like to come inside?"

"Nah, I just wanted to check you were sleeping okay." Ray backed down a step and hovered there, clearly on the verge of flight. "I'll just—I'll see you tomorrow."


End file.
